Target Practice
by Kaz Gemcity
Summary: Jason Bly, Victor Stecker-Epps, Tyler Brennen,  Mason Gilroy, Management,Detective Paxson, Larry Sizemore, Barry Burkowski, Sugar, Nate Westen, Seymour, and Veronica all wrapped up in one pretty package!
1. Prolouge

_A/N- This is a prolouge. It is supposed to be short._

**I do not own the characters or the show!**

**Spoiler Alert- Anything before or during the episode Friendly Fire is fair game!**

Last time we saw each other he tried to blackmail me. Then he got shot and I had to save him. He almost got shot...again. And I had to save him...again. Before that I blackmailed him, made him leave Miami where I was trapped. But there are some things that can force people to trust each other. Beings saved twice in a bank heist is one of those things. So we traded files and parted on good terms.

But that didn't mean I wanted to see him again. He's back though. He found me and Fi working on my seventy-four Dodge Charger and his first wordds were,

"Fiona Glenanne, wearing more clothes than usual I see."

I grabbed my gun from where it was sitting, next to my arm, and spun around. He raised his hands.

"Michael, I need your help."

With that he would become The Client. I was still processing his arival. He looked terrible, bloody and bruised.

"Bly?" I questioned, all doubt leaving my mind at his next words.

"For a tough guy, you sure dress like an Easter egg," in reference to my pink tinged shirt.


	2. Chapter 1

My name is Micheal Westen. I used to be a spy. Until I was burned and blacklisted. When your burned you've got nothing, no cash, no credit, no job history. You're stuck in whatever city they decide to dump you in. You do whatever work comes your way. You rely on anyone who's still talking to you. A trigger-happy ex-girlfriend. An old friend who used to inform on you to the FBI. Family too...if you're desperate. Bottom line, as long as your burned, you're not going anywhere.

I walked out onto the hotel balcony, careful not to disturb Fi too much. There were two guns under the pillows and she was liable to shot me if I made any sudden movements.

I scilenced the ting on the hotel phone, and answered the call as soon as I was safely out in the early Miami sun. It was Gilroy, the current physcopath in my life. They change ever so often. For a while it was my FBI tail, but they were just inconvient. Then there was CSS Agent Jason Bly, but he was more of a jackass. Then there was Carla. I don't know quite where to place her. Maybe under the blonde bitch catagory? And Victor Stecker-Epps. He was a sociopath on the edge of sanity. There is also Management. I jumped out of a helicopter and swam five miles in my suit pants to escape him. My old buddy Harlan vistied for a short time after that, but he tried to get me killed. And Detective Paxon. Her idea of fun was giving me a police tail. Then, right before Gilroy, there was Strictler. I shot him. Ain't Miami Full of great people?

"Hello." I answered the phone.

"Good morning Westen." the English spy-slash-physcopath answered.

"Gilroy, you're up early."

"As are you. Suprising, given what a busy boy you've been."

"Oh." I replied, non-commital in response to Gilroy's statement.

"Oh, no need to be coy. I hear there was a certain transpger of power in a certain section of Little Dominica. That a certain someone had a rather facilitating."

Fiona came out onto the balcony. The sheet she was holding to cover herself was falling off.

"I wouldn't know about that." I said, still faking amneisa.

"You reallt don't kiss and tell, do you?" He sounded impressed, but before I could respond he continued,

"Well, since you're up, any chance we can have a chat?"

Being as a nearly naked Fiona was pulling my bathrobe off my sholders, I didn't think now was the best time for a heart-to-heart with Girlroy.

"I'd love to, but, ah..."

"You have a more pressing engagement?"

Having sex with Fi? Definitly more pressing.

"You could say that."

"Don't keep me waiting." The threat was obvious in his voice.

"So we're in business?" I questioned.

"Yes we are, and there's lots of bussiness to be done." The phone went dead.

I let Fi drag me back to the bed. As long as I'm in Miami, I might as well have some fun in one of their high-end hotels.


	3. Chapter 2

**_A/N- I hope you like._**

Fiona and I drove home in separate cars, but she was never more than ten feet behind me. It is quite distracting when the woman you love is waving at you in your rear view mirror and tailing you in her Sabb. I, of course, drove through one on the many potholes that even my advanced driving skills could not avoid. The Charger's engine started smoking. I sighed as I pulled up at my front gate. I slid out of the car and opened the door. I then attempted to drive my car in, except it wouldn't start.

"Damn it!" I muttered under my breath. Then louder, "Fi, get over here and steer the Charger while I push." Fiona, for once did as I asked and finally the car was parked.

Being as I am a burned spy, with no job to speak of, I was able to spend the rest of my day working on my car with Fiona and drinking beers. Sam was away in Orlando with Ms. Renalds. He had decided that he needed some time after Mac left. Around one, Fi had made lunch, (Spanish omelets, egg-white only.)

It was late in the day when he arrived. Last time we saw each other we parted on good terms. he gave me a lead on the Cayman Island account number of the person who tried to kill me four time in total, though at that point it was only once. He was bloody and bruised and looked like he had gone through hell to get here.

"Bly?" I asked incredulously. The only way I knew it was him was the snarky comments he made. Things he had said only once before. He also said the magic words for anyone who is in Miami and needs help.

"Michael, I need your help." He whispered, barley able to breath, let alone speak. Before I could react he passed out crumbling to the ground. I rushed to catch him before he fell. Fiona looked on.

* * *

When I was little, maybe seven and Nate was probably five, Dad got mad one night. He was drunk. Not unusual. Dad had started drinking about a year before Nate was born. By the time Nate was one he got violent and drunk almost every night. I protected Nate and Ma as best I could, but it wasn't easy. This night was different though. Dad was angry, he had lost all of his money betting on the ball game. He came home late, almost two in the morning, and was looking for someone to vent his anger on. He entered the room Nate and I shared. Nate must have looked like an easier target, because that was where he went, to Nate's bed. He shook him awake and his angry shouts woke me as well. I sat up.

"Leave him alone." I got out of bed and pulled my father away from my brother. Wrong move. In one fluid motion Frank spun around and swung at me. Drunk or not he was a damn good fighter. But I was thinner, more agile. I ducked under Dad's arm and rushed to the yard. I made it out, but barley. Dad caught me. He backhanded me, his wedding ring cutting into my cheek. It started to bleed. I dropped to the ground and curled into a ball, feeling blow after blow come into contact with my body. He eventually wandered away without a backward glance. I entered the house minutes later, stopping to get ice for my rapidly swelling face. Ma was sitting quietly on the love-seat. I silently gave her a hug and a kiss on both cheeks as I headed to my room. Nate was sleeping. This night was, thankfully, to be forgotten as a bad dream. Nate was still young. Still thought of our dad as Superman. I didn't want to take that away from him yet. To him the only sign that tonight ever happened would be the bruises on my body. The bruises that he would never see.

It was then that I noticed the tears running down my face. They sting the fresh cut, salting the wound. I closed my eyes and vowed to never again cry because of my father's actions, he didn't deserve the honor. I began to build up a wall to protect myself from people. Frank came home within the hour. With no money, staying out was pointless, even to him. He stuck a chair under the door, knowing I wouldn't be able to kick through it like that. He really thought that I couldn't get out if I wanted to. I climbed out the window that night. Wandered the neighborhood for hours. Returning as the sun rose to protect Nate if he needed it.

* * *

I forced the memory from my mind. The fact that Bly looked much as I had that night would have to wait. He needed medical attention and so my thoughts would have to go back behind the wall I had built all those years ago. Focusing on the matter at hand, I was able to life Bly's dead weight. I ordered Fiona to open the door and get me my first aid kit. Jason was coming to, and I didn't want him in my arms when he did. I put Bly on the bed and poured disinfectant on the worst of his cuts. That woke him up. Bly shot up, screeching in pain as he reached for the gun at his ankle. That was a surprise. In his position, I would have gone for the gun that was at the small of his back. I noted the action as he pulled the gun from its holster, his face contorted with pain. Bly seemed to realize that I wasn't trying to kill him, because tucked the gun under his pillow.

"What the hell did you do?" I demanded, wrapping clean cloth around the wound that I was working on.

"It's a long story Michael." He answered.

"Good. We've got time right? Now tell me, preferably before Fiona shoots someone."

"I will, but I need you to fix me first. It might not be safe here." I didn't like where this was going, but I did as Bly asked. In his defense, he didn't pass out until I began to dig in his leg with a pair of tweezers, looking for a bullet.

_As a spy you get used to being in stressful, boring places. You do the best you can to not shoot someone. You sleep, you eat, and you work out. You prepare to be in dangerous ordeals in your spare time. You check that there is still a gun in your fridge, you go through your desk collecting all of the C4, and you don't give it to Fiona. You try to deal with the stress and not use the extra C4 you found in your desk to cause a massive explosion that will break all of the glass in Miami. Some deal with the temptation better than others._

I looked up, mildly annoyed at Fiona. Her explosion had destroyed two of my blueberry yogurts. It did wake Bly, though.

_It doesn't take long to get into the habit of grabbing a gun from under your pillow when something wakes you up, if you have a reason to. _

Bly reached under the pillow for the gun that he had stashed there earlier. He waved it around, as if expecting someone to come out of the shadows in my well-lit loft. I just sat in my favorite green chair and stared at him.

"What?" He demanded, looking at me like I was an idiot.

"Bly, it's just Fi. You seem to forget that she was IRA for a time. She likes to blow stuff up." I told him, speaking slowly.

"What the hell did she do, blow up the entire block?" He asked.

"Yeah, probably." I shrugged. "Why are you here?" I asked conversationally. He was about to answer when I heard the sirens. Damn it. There was a sharp knock on my door. I glared at Bly, telling him, mentaly, to keep his mouth shut.

"Hello." I answered the door in a bored tone though my eyes seemed to say 'There isn't a beaten up CSS agent in my loft. What are you talking about.' Because that is exactly what was happening.

"Hello ." A cheery voice answered.

"Detective Paxon. How nice to see you." I told her, not letting her through the front door, She looked offened, but didn't push it.

"Nice indeed, . It seemed there was a recent explosion in the area and given where it was it just screamed 'Michael Westen' to me. Any thoughts?" She asked.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Detective." I deadpanned.

"Really?" She asked sarcastically, looking over her shoulder at the broken windows of the Charger.

"Damn it F-" I cut myself off.

"So am I to believe that had something to do with this? I don't see her anywhere." Paxon deadpanned back. I glanced down toward the nightclub entrence and Paxon follwed my eyes.

"Fiona had nothing to do with this." I said, trying to keep her away from Fi. I didn't need Fiona getting arrested for an explosion...or shoting a federal officer. Bly limped up begind me, looking Detective Paxon up and down before I pulled him away.

"Okay. Then do you have an alebit for the past twenty minutes? Or you could just tell me why you set a block of C4 on fire." She told me.

"Excuse us for a moment, Detective." I said, leaving her standing in the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded of Bly in an undertone.

"Saving your ass." He said, limping back over to Paxon, who was still standing by the open door, her eyes taking in the scattered medical supplies.

"Detecive Paxon, has been with me for the past two hours. And I gave permission to use those explosives." Bly said. He was pulling rank. Smart move.

"And who are you?" Detective Paxon demanded.

"CSS Special Agent Jason Bly." He answered pulling out his ID, flinching when it pulled at the stitches I had put in.

"Very well Agent Bly. Please remember that I will still be watching." Paxon said before leaving. I was still not her type, it seemed. She didn't seem so happy that Bly had over-ruled her. She hadn'y gotten to arrest me for anything serious yet.

"So why are you here, Special Agent Jason Bly?" I asked, getting back to business as the door slammed and Fiona climbed up the balcony.

"Errr." Bly stalled. I stared.

"Do you know a Victor Stecker-Epps?" He asked.

_**A/N- Please tell me what you think!**_


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N- Wow, long time no type. It's been a while since I worked on this story. Actually, I think it might have been one of my first stories. I'd have to check on that. Anyway, to be honest, I don't really remember where I was going with this, so this chapter is gonna kinda be an improv. I hope you like it anyway.**_

_**Oh yeah. And Victor's still alive. Instead of getting shot, they shoot... You know what, just read the chapter.**_

_I climbed aboard the boat, Victor right on my heels._

_"Looks like we're all clear." He said, mostly to himself, as he scanned the area. But we both knew that looks can be deceiving. Which was why we didn't waste anytime getting the boat ready to leave port. _

_Victor checked the levels on the dash, as soon as the door was safely closed behind him._

_"We should have enough fuel to make it to the island." He said, shooting me a glance._

_"As long as we don't have to do too much detouring. On the way." He continued. I was still looking around the small cabin. Victor turned to me._

_"Start the engines. I'll cast off." He ordered, walking toward the door. As he pulled it open, I heard a faint click._

_"No!" I yelled, jumping and pulling him back from the door. I was just in time. A bullet came flying through the door._

_"That was cutting it close, Sport." Victor said._

_"Tell me about it." I retorted, then got down to business._

_"I'm gonna assume you have some decent fire-power around here." He looked at me like I was crazy for even considering otherwise. He quickly got up and grabbed two sniper rifles and a box of ammo. _

_We lined up at the windows silently, just as Fiona and Sam came running out of the woods, shooting like their lives depended on it. Which they did. So that made sense. _

_Carla had only four men with her._

_Make that three. Sam shot the first guy who turned toward them and Fiona quickly shot another. _

_"I'll take the other two. That means you get Carla, Sport." Victor said, firing three shots in rapid succession. The two other men fell to the ground, blood staining their black clothes. _

_Seeing only Carla left, Sam and Fi fled back into the woods. Taking their cue I fired. And then I turned, not watching Carla's dead form fall._

_"We should get going." I said, starting the engines, finally, as Victor slowly ventured out to cut us loose. _

_"You okay?" He asked, coming back in._

_"Yeah. Some people live and some people die. That's life." I said, steering us out to sea. Once there we could lay low for a few weeks and then sneak back into the States. _

* * *

"Yeah. I know Victor." I said, snapping back to the present, and not liking where this was going.


End file.
